


Warning Sign

by Kedavranox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Slash, Smut, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedavranox/pseuds/Kedavranox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy gets sick. Narcissa plots. Harry resists. Draco wants.<br/>Written for the 2011 Interhouse Fest</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I wrote this a while back for a fest, and I rediscovered it recently and decided to edit (oh how desperately it needed editing!) and re-post it. While I'm aware that this kind of story has been *done* I had a lot of great fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy it, too. Thanks are still due to my original beta socks4dobby.

**Warning Sign**  


_I started looking, and the bubble burst.  
I started looking for excuses._

The whooshing sound of his Floo startles Harry awake with a jolt. He flings his arms out, knocking over the half empty glass of water Brian persistently forgets the side table.

‘Shit!’ 

He hates being jolted awake in the mornings. It reminds too much of the war-- that and the fact that he’s usually starkers. 

He fumbles his glasses onto his face, looking about his bedroom for something decent to wear. It’s utter chaos. His Quidditch robes are balled up in a smelly heap in the corner. His Streamline 6.0 is stuck upside-down in a dustbin, leaning precariously against the wall. Clothes are scattered all over the floor. Brian’s leather belt is still tied to the bedpost. 

He smiles slowly at that. He’d woken up hard, only to find Brian already dressed and fumbling his belt through the loops of his trousers. He'd pulled the belt from his fingers, and yanked his boyfriend onto bed, firmly tying it around his wrists and onto the bed post. Brian only had a moment to murmur, _‘I’ll be late for work, you tosser,’_ before Harry fucked him slowly into the mattress. 

He starts again as the Floo clangs loudly for a second time, echoing throughout the empty house. Someone’s calling his name from the living room. 

‘I’m coming!’ he yells. 

He pulls his dressing gown from the heap of clothes pilled high at the foot of the bed and ties it loosely around his waist. In the hallway he steps on a toy truck, a plastic Quidditch player in scarlet robes and a shuddering miniature replica of a Golden Snitch before making it onto the landing. 

_‘Thank you, Teddy,_ ‘ he thinks. _‘Who knew someone so small could accumulate so much shit._ ‘

He thunders down the stairs and peers into the living room. Narcissa Malfoy’s head is in his Floo. It’s a rare enough sight --at least lately, and it makes him stop short. 

‘Oh, Harry. Thank goodness,’ she says. ‘I was about to send Wespy through to see if you’d _‘died._ ’

‘I’m alive, thanks. What warrants a Floo call at─’ he checks his watch, ‘eight thirty this morning?’

‘Aren’t Quidditch sensations required to wake up at dawn?’

‘It’s off season, Narcissa,’ he says, pulling his dressing gown tighter about himself and stepping closer to the fireplace. ‘What do you want?’

He hears Andromeda’s voice calling out faintly, ‘Stop needling the boy, Cissy. Besides, I'm perfectly alright.’

Narcissa frowns and her head disappears from the flames for a brief moment. 

‘Be quiet, Dromeda. The last thing we need is you spreading this thing to everyone else.’

She looks back at Harry. ‘Harry, dear, Andromeda’s come down with the flu.’ She says the last two words with the studied cautiousness of someone unfamiliar with the language. ‘She looks dreadful. I keep telling her it’s all that time she spends in London with those Muggles. She’s bound to pick up something nasty.’

Harry bites his tongue on the numerous comments that spring to mind in response to that. He’s learned that, with Narcissa, as with each of the Malfoy’s, survival is dependent on carefully choosing your battles. 

‘They’re her friends, Narcissa,’ he says, glancing at the calendar on his watch. ‘Do you need me to take Teddy? I’m free this week anyway; I’m not back on season for a fortnight.’

‘Yes, that’s the thing,’ Narcissa says, brushing her hair away from her face. ‘We were hoping you’d come over here. Help the old ladies out for a bit? Poor Teddy looks like he might be falling ill as well, and you know what he’s like after a Floo at the best of times.’

Harry sighs, scratching the back of his neck absently with his fingers. For the most part, he tends to avoid time alone with Narcissa. They almost always end up talking about Things He Likes To Avoid.

‘Let me get dressed,’ he says after a moment. ‘I’ll Floo over in a bit.’

‘Excellent.’ She pauses, glancing at him coyly. ‘Maybe you could stop by the Alley first? Fetch us a couple things─?’ she says, offhandedly waving a piece of paper. 

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Just give me the list, Narcissa.’

She beams.  
**

By the time he Floos to Andromeda’s little cottage, it’s ten in the morning and his temper’s been rattled by one too many _Daily Prophet_ photographers trying to get a shot of Harry Potter’s sodding groceries. 

He finds Narcissa and Teddy in the small dining room off the kitchen. A half eaten bowl of stew lies between the two and Teddy’s normally violently purple hair has changed to a dreary plum coloured hue. Narcissa, looking utterly fed up and out of place, waves Harry over absentmindedly as she studiously tries to keep Teddy from pilfering her wand. 

‘Do magic, Cissy,’ Teddy whines. 

Narcissa looks up as Harry begins dropping bags onto the table. 

‘He’s feeling poorly,’ she says. ‘He absolutely refuses to eat anything Wespy makes and his hair’s never been this dull.’

Harry drops the last of the bags onto the table and dusts his palms on his jeans. He reaches over to his godson who lifts his arms immediately. Teddy feels warm against Harry’s chest and when Harry murmurs, ‘Teds’ softly he only receives a pitiful ‘Harry’ in reply. Christ. At this rate they’ll all be sick come morning.

‘I think I’ll take him upstairs for a nap and maybe a quick bath first,’ Harry says. Teddy rests his head on his shoulder and sighs, but Harry swears his godson’s hair brightens just a bit.

The look of sheer gratitude on Narcissa face makes him smile.

‘How’s Andromeda?’ he asks. 

Narcissa waves her hand, and Teddy makes and abortive grasp for her wand again.

‘She’s asleep,’ she says. ‘I slipped her some sleeping draught in her tea. She refused to rest. Ridiculous woman.’

Harry balances Teddy on his hip, and heads for the bath. 

‘Come for some tea when he goes down,’ Narcissa calls after him. ‘I’ll have Wespy make you those pasties you like so.’

: : : 

When Teddy finally falls asleep, Harry’s shirt is still damp with bathwater and his hair is even messier than usual. He tries in vain to flatten it as he walks down the narrow hall from Teddy’s bedroom to the dining room. He’s about to walk in when he hears Narcissa speaking in low tones to someone else. Another voice murmurs a reply and Harry stills.

Fuck. 

He’d know that voice anywhere.

_Fuck._

His heart thuds skittishly in his chest and for a wild fleeting moment he considers simply Apparating away. Before he can though, Wespy finds him dithering in the hallway. 

‘Mr. Potter is having tea?’ she asks, nodding. 

Caught, Harry nods stupidly and follows the elf into the dining room. 

Draco is sitting at the table nonchalantly chewing on a Hobnob, his favourite ever since Harry had bought home a pack one evening on a whim. His broad shoulders flex underneath his shirt as he grabs the teapot from the table. 

Narcissa looks up at Harry with a cool expression. Why the woman can’t stay the hell out of his personal life he’ll never know. He’s managed to avoid Draco for almost a year and a half; trust Narcissa Malfoy to use his godson to get them in the same room again. Draco turns around in is seat and his lips part in an 'O' of surprise. 

Christ. The prat looks exactly the same. The same pointed chin, pale face. The same long blond lashes, the same _fucking_ grey eyes. His hair is shorter than usual, but it’s still long enough to curl between his fingers; a habit Draco hasn’t yet given up, given the way it still sticks up about his ears. His white shirt is crisp and undone at the top the way Harry likes. His silver cufflinks ─Harry’s breath catches. They’re same ones he’d had bought for Draco’s birthday; tiny silver serpents. When Harry handed him the small leather box Draco had lifted his brow. _‘Jewelry, Potter? Are you serious?'_ he'd said contemptuously, but Harry knew he’d been pleased. Later, when Draco was inside him, he’d kissed Harry slowly, gasping his name just once before he came. It was the first time he'd called him anything but Potter or Scarhead or any of the pseudo-witty names he'd came up with for Harry over the years.

‘Harry,’ Draco says quietly. His eyes flicker briefly to his mother’s face.

Try as he might, Harry cannot stop staring at his lips. They’re pink and wet, probably from sipping tea. He remembers the way they felt pressed hotly against his own. The way Draco would suck Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and swipe his tongue across his teeth. 

The first time they’d kissed, Draco had pressed up against him and said _‘Just fucking do it already.’_

He threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, kissing him roughly, their teeth clanking together, both fighting for control. He had bruises on his back for days after they'd fucked for the first time. 

All the things he was supposed to have forgotten about his ex come back to him with a sudden clarity. He remembers the way Draco hates snuggling but loves foreplay. He remembers that Draco likes his tea milky and sickeningly sweet, or that he loves sex in the kitchen, but never on the floor. He remembers his very first Cannons match, how Draco had pulled him aside in the locker room and told him he’d better not have any ideas of fucking any of his teammates. Or one else for that matter. Ever. 

His Occlumency is failing him. 

Images flood his brain like memories returned from a Pensieve. Hermione had always said it was a bad idea to use his mental shields against his memories but at the time Harry would have done anything to forget the three years he spent falling for Draco fucking Malfoy.

‘Draco,’ Harry says, pleased to hear his voice sounding calm and even. ‘Narcissa didn’t tell me you’d be joining us.’

‘I didn’t know I was,’ Draco says, glaring at his mother. He shifts in his chair and his white shirt stretches across his chest, stretching the V at his neck. Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the small sliver of pale, soft skin. 

Narcissa stands. ‘I think I’ll go check on Andromeda,’ she says. ‘Harry, why don’t you sit down? Wespy’s made all your favourites.’ 

Draco’s eyes track her movements as she leaves the room. His nostrils flare slightly, the way they do when he’s agitated. Harry doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this.

‘I’ll leave if you want,’ Draco says, standing slowly. 

Harry pulls out a chair and sits, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. 

‘It’s fine,’ he says. 

He waves his wand to pour himself a cup of tea, not trusting his hands. Draco sits back down hesitantly and after a moment, he grabs another biscuit from the tea service. 

Harry slowly sips his tea, trying to lose himself in the bitter burn. He watches from the side of his eye as Draco breaks a Hobnob into small pieces smearing chocolate over his fingertips. The silence is only broken by the sound of Draco sucking chocolate from his fingers and Harry’s tea cup sliding back into its saucer. After a few minutes and a few awkward glances, Draco abandons his plate, pressing his palms flat on the dark mahogany table. 

‘I’m trying to think of something to say─’ he says slowly. 

Harry eyes him over the rim of his cup. 

‘You’ve never had a problem with that before,’ he says, setting his cup down and reaching for a pasty. 

Draco looks away. 

The last time Harry he saw his ex, he’d shoved him out of their flat, warded it shut and then he stood with his back pressed against the door, his eyes screwed shut, trying to ignoring the ceaseless pounding at his back. When Draco had given up trying to break in, Harry had rifled through their things and banished all of Draco’s possessions to the pavement outside. The indignant shouts from the street below their window only made his fury multiply. In a burst of inventive cruelty he yanked the window open, stuck his head out into the bitter cold at shouted, _‘I guess you were right, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a cocksucking Death Eater!’_

Muggles were skittering about nervously. A few stared up at Harry, their expressions somewhere between alarm and reproachfulness, but Draco had grown quite still despite the cold, looking at his ex with a stunned, pale face. They stayed that way for a long moment before Harry shut the window closed and slid down the wall onto the floor, crying hacking sobs that refused to stop for hours. It was there Hermione had found him a day later. 

‘How are you?’ Draco asks.

Harry bites into his pasty chewing slowly and swallowing before giving Draco what he hoped was a cool, uncaring glance. 

‘Brilliant,’ he says. 

A brief pause. ‘I hear your Cannons are top of the league.’

Harry makes a non-committal sound and takes another sip of his tea. His throat is so dry it’s become almost impossible to swallow. He licks his lips, noticing that Draco is staring at him, his grey eyes fixed on Harry's mouth. 

Harry looks away, forcing his gaze across the room at the window that looks out onto the garden and the small pond beyond. He remembers Hagrid’s bike crashing down into the water when he was seventeen. He’d lost a tooth that day; he’d forgotten that until just now. He runs his tongue smoothly over the tooth Ted had re-grown for him.

‘How’s Greengrass?’ Harry asks quickly. ‘I heard you two bought the old flat.’ 

When he found out Draco had moved into _their_ flat with ─he can’t even think her name─ he’d spent an evening drunkenly hurling empty beer bottles at the brick wall behind his apartment. Ron had tried to put a stop to it, but one look at Harry’s anguished face was enough to ward him off.

Draco frowns slightly, ‘She’s fine,’ he says. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking at Harry with an odd expression. ‘It’s not─’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Draco presses his lips together, holding back what Harry was sure would be a completely plausible explanation for why he was fucking Greengrass behind his back.

A soft breeze rustles the braches outside and they creak against each other mournfully. Andromeda would soon have to close up the house and put the heating charms in place. Harry had helped with that last year. He wondered if they’d ask him again this year or if Draco would do it himself. 

‘I didn’t know you’d be here,’ Draco says, leaning back into his chair. He pushes his plate aside and looks at Harry for a long moment. 

‘Your hair is too long,’ he says softly.

This startles a laugh from deep inside Harry's belly.

‘I know,' he says, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. 'Molly’s been at me to cut it for weeks.’

‘I like it,’ Draco says. They share an intense look. 

Harry had been surprised to realise that Draco's grey eyes has a few streaks of amber stretching out from his irises. Now he wonders how he could have not noticed they were there all along. 

Heat pools in below his waist and he pulls his gaze away with difficulty. 

‘How is she?’ Draco murmurs. 

For a moment, Harry is confused. He has no idea where this conversation is going or even where it’s come from. 

‘Molly?’ he asks. ‘She’s well enough I suppose. You could stop by to see her you know.' 

He pauses.

'She asks after you sometimes.’

Draco taps his fingers softly on the table. ‘I didn’t think it would be appropriate.’

Draco picks up a piece of biscuit from the table and crumbles it between his fingers. ‘You’re seeing someone,’ he says. 

Harry looks away. ‘That’s none of your fucking business.’

Draco tosses a chunk of biscuit aside. ‘You’re right,’ he says tersely. ‘It isn’t.’

‘What the fuck do you care anyway?’ Harry asks, ‘Aren’t you too busy with Greengrass?’

Draco looks down at the table. ‘I’d forgotten what a little shit you could be sometimes,’ he says softly.

‘And you’ve always been a spoiled, selfish bastard. Nothing changes,’ Harry says, getting up from the table. ‘Enjoy your tea with Mummy, Draco.’

He stalks to the Floo in the sitting room and Draco follows a few paces behind. 

‘Harry, wait─’ He reaches out for Harry’s wrist, but Harry jerks his arm away. 

‘Don’t touch me,’ he says.

Draco blanches, dropping his arm. 

‘Fuck you,’ he says. ‘Didn’t you read _any_ of my letters?’

Harry walks over to the fireplace. The Floo powder is nowhere in sight. He turns to Draco. ‘What the fuck for?’

‘Because, you bloody ponce, I’ve been trying to tell you something.’

‘What could you possibly tell me that I don’t already know?’ Harry asks heatedly.

‘That you finally decided it was just too hard being Harry- _fucking_ -Potter’s plus one? Or that while you still love cock once in a while, you decided you prefer cunt after all? I didn’t need to read any of your pathetic sodding letters to know that, Draco.’ 

‘That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Harry.’

Harry takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest. 

‘You disappeared, Draco and for a week, I thought you were _dead._ ’ His voice cracks. ‘And then some fucking reporter asks me _on the street_ how I feel about my boyfriend shacking up with, Astoria Greengrass? _How the fuck─’_ He stops himself to take a shuddering breath, trying desperately to collect himself, glancing about the room for Floo powder. He refuses to break down in front of the smug bastard.

Silence falls for a moment. Draco folds his arms, gripping himself tightly at the elbows. ‘Harry, I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Harry says, finally spotting the small alabaster stone jar sitting haphazardly atop a pile of yellowed _Witch Weekly_ magazines. He jerks the lid off and grabs a pinch of Floo powder, then drops the jar onto the mantel. 

‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ he says, stepping into the flames and calling out for home.

: : :

‘You _promised_ me you’d never do anything like that, Mother,’ Draco says.

Narcissa studies her nails imperiously. ‘I’m certain I said nothing of the sort.’

They’re holed up in Andromeda’s stuffy bedroom, sitting on either side of her bed. Andromeda is propped up on pillows, eyeing her sister and her nephew, her mouth twisted in amusement. 

‘I’m certain you did,’ she murmurs.

‘Be quiet, Dromeda,’ Narcissa says waspishly. She turns to Draco. ‘It’s perfectly ridiculous the way the two of you are acting.’ 

‘Mother─’

‘It’s true, Draco. And I’m tired of watching you mope around all the time,’ she continues. ‘You’re my son. I want to see you happy again.’

Draco clenches his jaw. He had been happy with Harry. Most days. Until the howlers started coming, and then the articles in the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ ─even the sodding _Quibbler._ Until the death threats. 

Andromeda sits up further and curls her bed sheets about her. She looks pale and drawn. Her fever has gone down, but Draco is still worried. Muggle ailments are always the hardest to predict. 

Andromeda waves a finger at her sister. ‘You should let them handle this on their own, Cissy’ 

‘They’ve managed to completely avoid each other for far too long,’ Narcissa says. ‘They were never going to _handle this on their own.’_

Draco stands. ‘It doesn’t fucking matter─’

‘Language, Draco.’

‘He probably thinks I planned all this,’ he continues, ignoring his mother. ‘He hates being backed into a corner.’

He turns away from them both.

‘Draco. He’s angry.’

‘And he has every right to be. I hurt him terribly,’ he says. ‘But I’m not going to spend the rest of my sodding life apologising.’  
Draco folds his arms across his chest and walks over to the window. Andromeda’s room looks out above the rear garden where the Tentacula vines grow wild and untamed. 

She doesn’t keep any gardening elves; she'd said she likes to work the earth herself. He’d once coaxed Harry into helping him clean the out the flower beds until one of the vines had taken a keen interest in his boyfriend’s arse. It had made three valiant attempts at lovingly caressing his crack, until finally Harry promised to hex it with a freezing charm. It left him alone after that. 

Draco had fodder for arse jokes all week.

Seeing Harry today was such a mindfuck. That he thought Draco was fucking Astoria was ─upsetting. He never cheated on Harry.

That's what he tells himself on those nights when the guilt feels live a live thing, clawing out from his chest. But he did leave Harry. He hurt him. Perhaps more deeply than anyone could ever understand. Especially not his mother.

Things went downhill for them when Harry came up with his stupid plan to go public. _‘The war is over, Draco,’_ he’d said. _‘Nobody cares who I’m fucking.’_

He'd argued with about it again when Draco couldn’t find a job. _‘If they knew we were together, they wouldn’t treat you like shit.’_

After months of fighting over it, they came out. Harry released a statement to the press saying he was a poof who loved Draco Malfoy’s cock ─as he paraphrased gaily, surrounded by friends at the Leaky Cauldron that evening─ and the Wizarding world was blasted off its rocker. _‘Anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off’_ he’d said with a grin, kissing Draco hard on the mouth. 

The following day they’d received fifty Howlers before they had to close off the wards. Draco didn’t know whether the Wizarding world hated him more because he was a poof, or because he had the gall to shag Harry Potter. Then Rita Skeeter, _the cunt,_ had written a scathing ‘exposé’ claiming he was behind it all. He’d Confunded the Boy Who Lived and made him his concubine.

Harry had tried to laugh it off, but Draco knew better. The death threats came the following week. Weasley of all people had to shove him out of the way of a curse in broad daylight. Harry had been absolutely livid. The Minister had promised his attackers would be punished with the full weight of Wizarding law. They’d gotten off with a slap on the wrists. 

After all, they’d only tried to kill a Death Eater. 

He’d become resentful, picking fights with Harry over nothing. Harry started spending more and more nights sleeping over on Weasley’s sofa. They’d spent their time either hurling barbed insults at each other or rutting against each other viciously.

He'd thought about leaving a few times before he actually did it. He didn’t leave a note. He couldn’t bring himself to write one. He got onto the Knight Bus one morning at dawn, and left, hoping to lose himself somewhere in London. He didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t know where he was going or that he knew almost nothing about the Muggle world. 

Then somehow, Pansy found him and told him to grow some bollocks and go home. He told her he couldn’t go back, that he was tired of living up to Harry Potter. The Wizarding world had won. The monster had fled.

‘Draco,’ Narcissa says softly. She wraps her arms around him from behind and presses her cheek against his back. ‘You need to talk to him.’

He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. ‘He won’t see me.’

‘You can use the Floo here, love,’ Andromeda says, smiling softly. ‘I know you’ve thought about it.’

She’s right. Draco had tried to send Harry a few owls over the months following their split. At first he’d received a few terse replies to the effect of _‘Leave me the fuck alone’_ , and then his owl hadn’t been able to find Harry at all. He’d made himself Unplottable. Only his friends and, of course, his godson were connected to his Floo. Draco spent a few evenings standing at the fireplace in Andromeda's, Floo powder pinched between his fingers, considering Flooing over. He could never make himself do it. It's one of the reasons he avoids his Aunt's cottage. The temptation was too great. In the end he’d always been a coward.

_Just a cocksucking Death Eater after all._

Harry could be a real bastard when he tried.

Narcissa gently turns him around and caresses his cheek. ‘Go, Draco.’

And so he does.

: : : 

Harry’s flat doesn’t look at all like he thought it would. It’s a chaos of mismatched furniture and Muggle appliances. Harry’s black dressing gown is thrown over the telly. A heavily dented wooden coffee table is shoved off to the side in-between the sofa and the wall. With a jolt Draco recognises the love seat they’d bought together.

If he closes his eyes he can still see them both in the shop, sweating in the summer heat, arguing over Slytherin green or Gryffindor scarlet. They’d eventually decided on an appalling lavender.

When he finally broke through the wards on their old flat, Draco and his landlord had entered it to find most of the furniture utterly destroyed. He assumed the love seat was a goner too. A wave of unexpected fondness rises up in his chest and he passes his fingers gently over the armrest. The fabric rises and falls, as though taking a deep breath and the seat releases a shuddering purr of contentment.

‘Missed me, did you?’ Draco murmurs softly.

Draco turns slowly about the room. There’s a black and white poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall from Harry’s first season as Seeker. In the corner there’s a small hutch with a decanter of scotch and two glasses. A framed Order of Merlin, First Class is shoved under a pile of _Quidditch Weekly_ magazines. His heart clenches when he spots the picture frames on the mantle. A few are magical, but most of them retain the dead quiet of a Muggle photograph.

There’s a photo of Teddy on a toy broomstick, zooming delightedly about Andromeda’s garden. After that, a shot of Harry, Granger and the Weasel arm-in-arm, laughing at the photographer, a Cannons t-shirt bunched up in Weasley’s fist. The others-- the Muggle stills that disturb Draco the most, include a photograph of Harry and an older man smiling at each other. A banner that reads ‘Happy New Year!’ is strung behind their heads. There’s a bit of bushy hair peeking from the corner that he thinks might be Granger’s.

There’s another, Harry and the same man sitting on the beach, drinks in hand. Harry’s arm is draped across the other man’s chest and he’s smiling brilliantly at the camera. The caption reads, ‘Jamaica mon!’

Draco picks up the frame and studies the photograph, trying to figure out what Harry could be thinking. Is he happy? He looks it. The other man is broad shouldered and attractive. His smile is open and utterly unlike Draco’s. His eyes are hazel. His sandy brown hair is greying slightly at the temples. Draco wonders vaguely where Harry met him.

‘He’s a Muggle, you know.’

Draco starts and turns around, almost dropping the frame onto the floor.

Harry is leaning on the staircase clutching the railing so hard his knuckles are white.

‘Harry,’ he says.

Harry walks down the last few stairs walks over to him and gently pulls the frame from his fingertips. He moves closer to the mantle and rests the photograph back into the empty space.

‘We met at a match,’ he says with his back still turned. ‘His sister is a witch. His name is Brian.’

‘I know his name,’ Draco says.

Harry turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the mantle.

‘What are you doing here, Malfoy?’

The use of his last name almost punches a hole in his chest. 

‘Don’t call me that,’ he says. ‘I came to apologise.’

Harry raises his eyebrows. ‘All right,’ he says slowly.

‘Mother thought we should talk. She set the whole thing up.’

‘I’d worked that out myself, thanks,’ Harry says. ‘But I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘Maybe not,’ Draco says.

He looks about the room. ‘How long…I mean you and Brian─’

‘Eight months.’

‘Long then,' Draco says. He looks around the room. 'Does he live here too?’

‘No.’

Draco feels such a rush of relief spread across his chest that he knows it's written all over his face. Harry looks away, scratching his jaw harshly.

‘What about you and Greengrass?’

‘Harry,’ he says. ‘It’s not like that. Astoria and I…’

‘Were you fucking her?’

‘What─?’

‘When we were together,’ Harry says, looking at Draco intently. ‘Were you fucking her?’

‘No. Merlin, Harry. I never cheated on you.’

Harry’s gaze doesn’t falter. ‘Are you fucking her now?’ he asks. 

Draco looks away. ‘It’s not like you think.’

Harry sighs, looking at a spot just over Draco's shoulder.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, picking at the wool on his jumper. ‘We can both fuck whoever we want.’

‘It was a mistake, Harry. Long ago. It hasn’t happened since.’

Harry meets his gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says softly.

‘You keep saying that,’ Draco says, moving closer to Harry. ‘But I think it does.’

‘This,’ Harry says, gesturing between them. ‘It’s over, Draco.’

Draco steps closer.

‘It isn’t,’ he murmurs. 

He presses Harry up against the mantle and presses his palm flat against his chest.

‘It’s not over, Harry.’

Harry lets out a muffled groan as Draco leans in and presses their mouths together. It feels too much like coming home, and there's a sudden sting at the back of his eyes. Harry’s mouth opens beneath his and Draco deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Harry’s. The roughness of Harry's taste buds against his tongue sends a spark of desire to his groin and he moans. He arches into Harry’s lean body, grabbing his arse through his jeans. Harry pushes off the mantle and presses his body flush against Draco, threading his fingers though Draco’s hair.

 _‘Goddammit,’_ Harry murmurs against his lips.

Draco strokes the small of Harry’s back, traveling slowly up his spine. His shoulders are narrower than Draco’s, but they’re muscular and hard beneath his fingertips. Harry shivers at his touch.

‘I’ve wanted this for so long,’ Draco says, pushing his hands under Harry’s shirt. Harry grunts, digging his fingers into Draco’s hips.

‘Since you left me, you mean,’ he growls, leaning in to suck at Draco’s pulse point.

Draco gasps, holding Harry’s head and arching up beneath him.

‘I couldn’t-’

Harry nips his earlobe. Draco moans. ‘Harry. Fuck.’

He threads his fingertips through the thick hair at Harry’s nape and thrusts his hips forward, eliciting a needy groan from Harry as their cocks rub against each other.

 

Harry abruptly pulls his hips away, resting his forehead on Draco’s. The sound of their heavy breathing echoes against the high ceiling. Draco closes his eyes.

_‘Why?’_

The plea in Harry’s voice is almost enough to undo him.

‘I was afraid I couldn’t live up to you,’ he says.

He presses his lips against Harry’s again, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip the way he likes. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs.

Harry presses his hands on Draco’s chest, gently pushing him away. ‘Wait,’ he says.

Draco strokes the muscles in Harry's forearm. ‘What is it?’

‘Draco,’ Harry says in a whisper.

His green eyes flicker to the photos on the mantel piece.

‘I can't fuck around with you,' he says. 'I’m with someone else now,’

Draco studies Harry’s face, trying to ignore the urge to grab him again and say, _‘Sod your fucking boyfriend!’_

Harry’s green eyes are bright behind his glasses. Something about the look on his face strikes Draco hard in the chest.

‘Are you in love with him?’ he asks. 

Harry looks away, his shoulders slumping.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think I might be.’

Draco stills. His heart thuds painfully in his chest. He'd be surprised if Harry couldn't hear it too.

‘Please,’ Harry says quietly. ‘Please, Draco. Just go.’

Blood rushes in his ears. He’d never even considered─

When it came to Harry, he’d always been stupid. He almost always miscalculates. It was ridiculous to believe that Harry wouldn’t fall for anyone else. It was entirely idiotic.

 

Draco should have known. He should have known he would always be the go between, the bridge Harry would cross until he’d found something better. Perhaps he did know, at least a little. 

Maybe it’s what made leaving a little bit easier.

Draco takes two steps back, hitting the back of his heel against the sofa.

‘All right,’ he says softly.

He Disapparates.


	2. Chapter 2

**_PART II_**

_Come on in,  
I’ve got to tell you what a state I’m in_

 

‘Hermione sent us an owl,’ Brian says from across the hall. ‘She’s making goulash tonight. We should kip over and steal Ron’s food.’

Harry splashes water onto his face. ‘Not tonight,’ he says, grabbing a towel and drying his face roughly. 

He tosses the towel onto the floor and looks up at the mirror above the sink, studying his reflection. He traces the edge of his lower lip with his index finger. ‘Fuck,’ he murmurs softly. He can still feel the heat of Draco’s mouth against his own.

He walks across the hallway and into his bedroom. Brian is sitting at the edge of the bed pulling off his loafers. His shoulders are bare and Harry takes a moment to admire the muscles in his back. Brian is fifteen years older than Harry, but the only evidence of his age are a few flecks of silver strands at his temples and the nape of his neck.

He works for a P.R firm in Cambridge, whatever that means, but Harry knows it’s not really where his heart is. There’s a spare room in Brian’s apartment, cluttered with canvases, paints and wooden frames. He calls himself a mediocre artist, but Harry disagrees. Brian says it’s because he knows sod all about artwork, but Harry reckons it’s because he hates to see Brian give up so easily. It reminds him too much of himself, suffering through Auror training with Ron, forcing himself to believe it was what he wanted. It wasn’t until Draco had softly said, _‘You should see the look on your face when you’re on the pitch, Harry,’_ he realised where he really wanted to be.

He’d signed the contract with the Cannons the day before his graduation from the Auror Training Programme. When he told Ron that he wasn’t going to be his partner after all, pulling a Cannons jersey from his old rucksack with a broad grin on his face, everyone had been flabbergasted. Everyone except Draco.

He sits on the bed with his ankles crossed and his back against the headboard, watching the knobs of Brian’s spine ripple as he bends over to massage the balls of his feet. Brian’s been here now for three days and Harry hasn’t asked him to leave. He hasn’t said anything about the clothes Brian leaves in his dresser, or the packs of instant coffee Brian favours that are stuffed in a ceramic mug the pantry. The extra pair of loafers Brian leaves by the door, and the crockery set he’s left in the cupboards, all these things terrify him more than Voldemort ever could. 

They’ve been together for eight months now, hardly long enough for him them to even consider them living together; yet he suspects this possibility is at the forefront of Brian’s mind. When he contemplates his feelings towards this, he doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that he’d moved in with Draco after only three months. That there had been no question to it. No second thoughts when Hermione found them a flat through her agent. But, he wasn’t careful with Draco. He let him in too soon and too deep. He knows better now. 

He grabs the glass of whiskey from the side table, draining it in one gulp. It refills itself with the wave of his wand.

‘How much have you had?’ Brian asks, not looking back at him.

‘Not much,’ he says. It’s a boldface lie and they both know it. Harry pats his thighs. ‘Come here.’

Brian turns around, raising his eyebrows. ‘Looking for some nookie?’ he says, smirking slightly.

Harry’s heart stutters. Brian doesn’t look at all like Draco. Not in the least. 

Except for tonight.

Tonight there’s a lingering trace of Draco in his eyes and in the quirk of his lips. He can see Draco in the narrowness of his hips or the way he raises his brow when Harry doesn’t respond quickly enough. 

He forces a smile. ‘Come here,’ he says again. 

He uncrosses his ankles and spreads his thighs. Brian crawls over the thick bedspread and straddles him carefully. Harry drapes his arms across his shoulders.

‘How was your day?’ he asks softly.

‘Not one of my best, actually.’

‘Really?’ Harry murmurs, trailing kisses along Brian’s jaw. ‘Why?’

‘Well, first off, I was late for work,’ Brian says.

Harry leans back and pulls off his jumper. His hair falls about his face in a tousled mess and Brian brushes it off his forehead in slow, gentle strokes.

'There was this horny prat in bed this morning who kept me back,' he murmurs.

‘Aww. Did Waverly punish you?’ Harry asks, stroking Brian’s thighs through his trousers. 'Were there whips and chains? You know what a kinky old sod he is.'

Brian leans forward. ‘Shut up and kiss me, you silly ponce,’ he murmurs before taking Harry’s lips with his own, prying them open and sliding his tongue inside. 

Harry groans, trailing his hands restlessly along Brian’s thighs and stroking his arse. He breaks the kiss to pull of his glasses, tossing them on the side table. They skid straight off onto the wooden floors with a _thwack_. He picks up the glass of whiskey and swallows it all in one swig.

‘Harry─’

Harry presses a finger to Brian’s lips. They’re full and thick. Red and wet. His cupid’s bow is faint and he has a deep scar on his chin. When they met, Harry liked that a lot. They were both scarred. 

‘Too much clothes,’ Harry says, banishing the glass with a thought. ‘Take them off.’

Brian studies him for a moment before kissing him briefly and then sliding sideways off the bed. He pulls off his trousers and shorts and then strokes himself twice slowly. His cock is thick and hard and poking up against his belly. Draco was longer, but not quite as thick. He’d absolutely hated the fact that he curved to the left. Harry always─

He closes his eyes. What he needs right now is to forget about Draco completely. If he can do that, he’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. 

He edges to the end of the bed, pulling off his jeans and shorts.

Brian kneels between his legs, looking up at Harry through thick lashes. Harry leans forward and kisses him hard on the lips. Brian gasps, pushing himself into Harry’s arms. The kiss is rough, hard enough to bruise, and when Harry pulls away, he’s panting slightly.

Brian raises a tentative finger to his lips. ‘What is it, Harry? Something’s wrong.’

Harry pushes his hair behind his ears. ‘It’s nothing.’

Brian looks at him. ‘Stop it,’ he says, taking Harry’s hand. ‘Just talk to me.’

‘I can’t.’

Brian sits back on his haunches and swallows. ‘Is it me?’

‘Of course it isn’t you,’ Harry says, reaching out to stroke Brian’s hair. ‘I just─ Can we talk about it tomorrow?’

Brian opens his mouth again and Harry gently presses his hand across his lips.

‘All I want right now,’ he says, ‘is for you to stop teasing me with that gorgeous mouth of yours and suck my cock.’

Brian gives him a long look. 

‘Please,’ Harry says softly. 

Brian makes a low sound in his throat. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head slowly and sucks the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth, pressing the foreskin gently back.

Harry groans. ‘Yes, just like that,’ he murmurs.

Brian sucks his cock head into his mouth, his tongue teasing at the slit. 

‘Fuck,’ Harry groans.

Brian hollows his cheeks, and Harry can feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. He is tumbling, falling fast-forward into the mind numbing swirl of an impending orgasm. He arches his back, giving himself up to it completely. Willing it come faster. Willing it to make him forget again. 

Harry gently runs his fingers through Brian’s hair, fucking his mouth slowly. Brian loosens his jaw and Harry’s cock slips straight down Brian’s throat.

‘Brian, oh fuck,’ Harry murmurs. He can’t top staring at the way his cock fits perfectly between those thick, red lips. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck. He can feel his pores opening. Brain swallows around his cock, and Harry gasps. Brian pulls back his head and presses his tongue against the spot just underneath his cockhead that drives him absolutely insane. 

He’s close, so close to forgetting today had ever happened. When he falls back against the sheets, Brian spreads his thighs wider, using his hand to fondle Harry’s balls as he licks the underside of his cock. ‘Bri, I’m going to─’

Brian sucks hard and Harry comes in a flood into his mouth shaking hard with every spasm. When he comes back to himself, he pulls Brian up onto the bed, pushing them both onto the pillows. Harry kisses him slowly, seeking out his taste on Brian’s tongue. Brian moans into his mouth and hot puffs of air brush against Harry’s cheeks.

He drops his head onto the pillow and Brian rests his head on Harry’s taut stomach.

‘Christ,’ he says. ‘You are so fucking sexy like this.’ 

Harry looks down and frowns at Brian. ‘Tell me another...’ 

Brian rolls his eyes, exasperated. ‘You’re sexy, Harry,’ he says, kissing his stomach. ‘Accept it.’

Harry stares at him for a long moment. ‘Why are you even with me, Brian?’ he suddenly blurts. 

Brian lifts his head. ‘Are you serious?’ 

Harry winces, deeply regretting having said anything at all. The truth is, it’s something he’s considered many times before. Brian is sexy, refined and suave. He could charm the pants off of anyone, Ron included. Mrs. Weasley’s wrapped around his finger. Harry constantly notices the scores of witches and wizards, not to mention Muggles of both sexes frequently checking his boyfriend out. And Harry? He’s still the scrawny specky kid who couldn’t keep a boyfriend if he tried. And he did try. He tried so fucking hard. He just wasn’t good enough. In the end he left. No matter how much you love them, they always leave; this is something he knows now. They always leave and he can’t think of any other reason for it other than the fact that it’s him. Harry Potter. There’s something about _him_ that makes people categorically unable to love him for too long. It’s just something he’s accepted over time.

‘No,’ he says softly. ‘I’m not serious. Just forget it what I said.’

‘Harry…’

Harry lifts his arms, covering his face with his palms. ‘I’m sorry. I’m pathetic,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘You’re not pathetic, Harry,’ Brian says. His sits up and gently pries Harry’s hands from his face. ‘I’m with you because you’re smart, you’re sexy, you make me laugh.’ He pauses. ‘You’re absolutely stunning, and you don’t even know it. I have to pinch myself when I look at you. I haven’t the slightest clue what you see in me, but I know I’m a lucky bastard.’ 

Harry looks at him with wide eyes. 

Brian smiles. ‘I could lose myself in your eyes in the mornings. You sing Celestina Warbeck when you think I’m not around, you love with your whole heart and you’re loyal to you friends. You treat Teddy like he’s your son and you cry in the cinema anytime someone dies, even if he’s the bad guy.’ 

He reaches up and tweaks Harry’s nipple, causing the younger man to arch up off the bed. A slow smile spreads across Brian’s face. ‘And,’ he says. ‘You have the most gorgeous cock I have ever seen.’ 

Harry props himself up on his elbows, absently tossing his hair from his eyes.

‘I want you to fuck me,’ he says.

Brian stills. ‘Harry─’

‘Don’t you want to?

‘Of course I do, I just…you’ve never─’

Harry reaches between them and takes firm hold of Brian’s cock. He groans. 

‘I want you to,’ Harry says, looking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. ‘I want you inside me.’

Brian raises himself up on his forearms, his eyes searching Harry’s face.

‘You’re certain?’

Harry reaches lower, slowly fondling Brian’s balls. ‘Fuck me, Bri,’ he whispers, nipping at Brian’s earlobe. ‘Tear me to fucking pieces,’ he says.

Brian moans and closes his eyes briefly. ‘Lube,’ he gasps.

Harry Summons the small tube of lubricant and Brian leans on one elbow, cracking it open and pouring a huge glob onto his fingers then stroking his hard cock. He lets a few more drops fall onto his fingers and starts teasing Harry’s hole, but Harry stops him by tugging at his wrist.

‘Don’t need that. Just you.’

‘Harry─’

‘Please. I want you to.’

Brian braces himself above him. ‘It’ll hurt this way,’ he says.

‘I don’t care,’ he says, stroking his fingers along Brian’s crack. ‘Just fuck me.’

He runs his fingers up along Brian’s spine. It’s slick with sweat. Brian shudders and edges slowly into him. It burns. Merlin, it burns, but Harry pushes himself downwards and Brian groans loudly. ‘Oh God, Harry.’ His cock slips past the tight ring of muscle, and Harry rides the wave of pain it brings. He needs this.

‘In me,’ Harry moans.

Brian pushes himself further in, but slowly so that Harry’s can accommodate his girth. When he’s fully sheathed inside Harry scratches his nails down his lover’s back. Brian whimpers.

‘Move,’ Harry says.

‘I’m hurting you.’

‘You’re not,’ Harry lies. ‘You feel so good, Bri. So fucking good. Fuck me. Just fuck me, please.’

With a shudder, Brian pulls out almost fully, pressing back into him and brushing his prostate. Harry pulls his knees into his chest and groans. ‘Oh, God.’ 

Brian stills again, his forearms trembling and his eyes shut. Harry knows he’s fighting himself for control. Harry grips his thighs around his boyfriend’s arse, pulling him in deeper. Brian’s eyes flutter open.

‘Oh Christ, Harry. You’re so tight.’

Brian pulls out and sheathes himself again and Harry can feel his toes curl. His cock is half hard again.

‘Harder,’ he says.

Brian pushes himself up onto his palms and starts pounding into him in quick strokes. Harry braces himself on the headboard. Brian leans in, hooking Harry’s leg over his shoulder and kisses him roughly.

‘Yes, Bri- Fuck. So good.’ Harry moans into his mouth. 

He pushes down against him, using the head board to brace himself and Brian murmurs words Harry can’t quite make out, but which sound vaguely familiar.

After a while he loses his pace and jerks forward as he comes with a shout, and after a few moments he shudders, falling onto Harry’s side. The sound of their heavy breathing echoes thought the room.

‘Oh my God,’ Brian says, wiping his face harshly.

Harry turns to him slowly, wincing at the pain in his arse. He presses his face against Brian’s chest, hugging him tightly. Brian’s arms come around him, and he rolls to the left, pulling Harry up onto his chest.

‘Harry,’ Brian says softly. ‘Baby, are you crying?’

‘No.’

Harry’s voice is muffled against Brian’s chest.

‘No,’ he says again. ‘It’s only sweat.’

: : : 

Harry awakes slowly, trying his best not to make any sudden movements. His head feels like someone took the time to install a million tiny jack hammers beneath his skull while he slept. He groans and sits up, scratching his stomach and looking about his room for his glasses; always a useless feat. Thank God for magic. He Summons them wandlessly and after a few seconds they smack squarely into his hand. He forces them onto his face and runs his hands through his hair. It’s hanging about his shoulders in angry spikes, the longest it’s ever been.

He pads over to the bathroom, tenderly clenching his butt cheeks together. His arse is still sore. He supposes he could use a healing charm, but he wants to feel the shadow of Brian’s cock for the rest of the day. At the same time, he doesn’t want to examine what happened last night too closely. He opens the cupboard under the sink and reaches for a vial of hangover potion and Pepper- Up. Brian’s always resented the fact that a mere potion could take all his hangover symptoms away while he has to suffer through the effects and hope a few aspirin gets him through the day.

He gulps down the potions and the roiling in his stomach instantly ceases. There’s a note stuck onto the mirror in Brian’s handwriting, Harry glances at it, and then he frowns. He Summons a pair of cotton trousers from a pile of semi-clean clothes and pulls them over his dangling cock, not bothering with underwear.

_‘Harry, we need to talk.  
Brian’_

He balls up the note in his fist and then tosses it into the rubbish. He spends a few minutes staring at his reflection before brushing his teeth. There’s a definite love bite on his neck. He could use a shave, God knows, but he hasn’t the patience for it. Not mention his mind is going million miles a minute. 

_We need to talk._

What the fuck does that mean? He drops the toothbrush into the sink and presses his palms onto either side of the cold porcelain, rolling his head around in slow circles.

 _Fuck._ He was _fine_ before yesterday. Everything was _fine_. He refuses to let Draco Malfoy ruin his life again. He loves Brian. He does. They’ve never even said the words to each other, but he knows he does. The feeling he gets when he’s with Brian is enough. It has to be.

He stares at his reflection. ‘It’s enough,’ he says softly.

In the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of coffee, sipping it slowly, trying to keep his mind as blank as possible. When the Floo chimes a few minutes later, he shuffles into the sitting room hoping whoever it is would just go away and leave him the fuck alone.

It’s Narcissa.

‘Yes?’

‘Harry, it’s Teddy,’ she says.

He drops his coffee cup onto the mantel. ‘What is it?’

‘His temperature’s spiked. He’s upset. He’s been asking for you.’ She looks away, talking to someone behind her. ‘Draco thinks it’s something serious.’

Sweet Christ.

He’d forgotten. How could he forget something like that? He’s always so wrapped up in his own problems he can never see past himself. Isn’t that what Draco said? Wasn’t that the very last thing Draco said to him?

‘Step aside,’ he says. ‘I’m coming through.

He steps into the Floo and walks into Andromeda’s sitting room.

Teddy is lying across the sofa, looking miserable. His hair is a sandy brown, and Harry is suddenly, achingly reminded of Remus. Teddy turns over when Harry arrives, but he closes his eyes again quickly, burrowing himself into the pillows.

Draco is standing off to the side, his arms folded across his chest and looking just as rumpled as Harry. He must have slept over. His eyes trail over Harry’s body and when he spots the mark on Harry’s neck he looks away quickly, as if he’d been burned. Harry doesn’t have a moment to consider what that means. He doesn’t want to.

He rests his hand on his godson’s back. Teddy’s skin is on fire.

‘I’ve never seen him like this,’ Draco says. ‘I was thinking maybe we should take him to St. Mungo’s, but I knew you wouldn’t like that.’

Harry looks away from him quickly and directs his attention to Narcissa. ‘What about Andromeda?’

‘She’s on the mend.’ Narcissa says, ‘I’ve sent her over to the Manor, we’ve more house-elves. Wespy already has her hands full here.’

‘He hasn’t eaten since you last saw him,’ Draco says quietly. ‘I tried earlier, but he only wants you.’

Harry runs his palm in soothing circles on Teddy’s back.

‘We can’t take him to St. Mungo’s,’ he says. ‘When Hermione lost the baby, there were reporters outside her room…I can’t do that again.’

He clenches his jaw, looking at Draco. He really doesn’t want to do this, but— ‘Get Ginny,’ he says grimly.

She and Harry were no longer sworn enemies, thank God, but their friendship hadn’t become any less awkward after Harry broke up with her a few days after the Battle of Hogwarts. The fact that after a few months he’d taken up with Draco Malfoy of all people hadn’t made things any easier.

Draco looks at him for a moment before stepping into the Floo and saying clearly, ‘St. Mungo’s Hospital.’

When Draco disappears Harry turns to Narcissa. ‘Have Wespy bring some towels and water,’ he says. ‘I’m going to sponge him down.’

Narcissa summons her house-elf, rattling off instructions which Wespy follows without hesitation.

‘Narcissa, maybe you should go to the Manor as well.’ Harry says, sitting Teddy up and pulling off his shirt. It’s disconcerting how unresponsive the child is. Harry reassures himself by holding him close and focusing on his steady breathing, and throbbing pulse. Wespy reappears with a large basin of water and a few wet cloths. She sets them on the floor next Harry and he takes a cloth and starts wiping Teddy down.

‘We don’t want everyone to catch this, whatever it is,’ he says.

‘You think I should leave you and my son here to fend for yourselves?’

‘Draco can leave as well. Why should he stay?’ he says distractedly. 

Narcissa purses her lips. ‘I’ll stay until Ginevra can tell us what’s going on,’ she says. ‘Don’t they say she’s prodigy? She’ll sort this out in no time, I’m sure.’

Draco tumbles out of the Floo with Ginny following closely behind. She has a rack of smoking potions in one hand and a small black case in the other. She walks over to Teddy immediately.

‘How long has he been like this?’ she asks. 

Harry looks to Narcissa, completely at a loss.

‘He was fine last night,’ Narcissa says, coming closer. ‘But this morning he could barely lift his head.’

Ginny waves her wand over Teddy’s body and kneels in front of the sofa, putting her ear close to his chest. She lifts his wrist to check the boy’s pulse and then she looks at Harry.

 

‘Hold him against your chest just like that,’ she says. ‘Malfoy, uncap that vial and hand it to me.’

She points to a purple potion at the end of the rack and Draco plucks it out with shaking fingers.

‘I’ll see if he’ll swallow this,’ she says. ‘If not, Harry I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take him with me to the ward.’

Harry nods quickly. ‘Just do it,’ he says.

She opens Teddy’s throat gently and he stirs, whimpering softly. Harry tenses. 

‘Don’t worry,’ Ginny says. ‘That’s a good sign.’

She pours the potion, massaging Teddy’s throat. At first he splutters, but then he starts swallowing the concoction on his own.

Ginny passes her wand down the boy’s sternum. ‘It’s definitely viral,’ she says, looking up at Harry. ‘It’s wound itself around his magical core. This is a Muggle strain.’

‘Andromeda’s picked up the flu,’ Harry’s says quickly.

‘Malfoy said.’

Teddy stirs in his arms and beads of sweat start breaking out on his forehead.

‘Excellent,’ she murmurs, leaning closer to Teddy. She quickly checks his pulse. ‘I gave him something to help him break the fever, but I’m afraid that’s all I can do for now. Harry, was Teddy exposed to Muggles recently? A significant amount?’

‘No, I─’ he starts, and then it hits him. ‘Brian and I…we took him to a football match last weekend. Could it be that?’

Ginny nods. ‘Andromeda probably picked it up from him.’

‘I did this to him?’ Harry asks, looking between Narcissa and Ginny. ‘Andromeda wasn’t like this.’

‘You didn’t do this to him, Harry. Wizarding children just have a harder time fighting of Muggle strains of the flu. His magical core is working overtime, trying to fight a virus it doesn’t understand.’

She reaches for another vial. ‘Give him this in about two hours. It’ll help calm his magic. If he gets any worse, or he spikes another fever, get him straight to the hospital.’

Teddy mumbles something into Harry’s shirt and Harry holds onto his godson more tightly.

‘All right,’ he says, taking the potion.

She stands up, dusting off her robes. ‘The three of you should take some Pepper-Up this morning. You don’t want catch this yourselves.’

She glances at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she says. ‘I’m running late.’

She drops a kiss on Teddy’s forehead and then she squeezes Harry’s shoulder. ‘He’s going to be fine, Harry.’

She gathers her things, and with a quick nod to Narcissa, steps into the Floo.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Narcissa leaves for the kitchen, saying something about a broth. Draco watches her go and then turns to Harry.

‘I’d better go,’ he says.

‘No, wait,’ Harry says. He rests Teddy’s now sleeping form gently onto the couch and stands. ‘Would you sit with him for a moment? I need to go to my place and collect some things.’

All right,’ Draco says quietly. A muscle twitches in his jaw. ‘You might want to put on some clothes as well.’

Harry stops short, looking down at his naked chest and threadbare cotton trousers. ‘Yes,' he says. 'That too.'

They look at each other for a long moment before Harry tears his eyes away and steps into the Floo, trying his best to ignore the heat of Draco’s gaze.


	3. Part III

_These characters aren't mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them sometimes. They like it when I do that. ;-)_

_** PART III ** _   


_You were an island and I passed you by.  
You were an island to discover. _

 

When Draco wakes a few days later, his mother is standing at the foot of his bed with her arms folded beneath her breasts.

‘Mummy? What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Language, Draco,’ she says. ‘Now get up and get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.’

She strides purposefully out of his room, leaving the bedroom door open.

Draco sits up mussing his hair irritably. It’s barely dawn. _Why the fuck is she here so early?_

He hops out of bed, grabs his wand and wanders sleepily into the adjoining bathroom. He’d changed claw foot tub into a nondescript shower stall when he moved back in. He has too many memories of soaking with Harry, sitting behind him and massaging his tired shoulders after a match. Memories of Harry above him, wide smile on his face, the water from his hair dripping into his eyes... 

After a quick shower, he dresses in his usual crisp white shirt, custom made trousers and jacket. He’d started working in a brokerage firm; the Greengrasses had arranged his credentials after he couldn’t land a job in the wizarding world. He was proud to say it was something he was exceptionally good at. If he sometimes used magic to get a lead on the stock exchange, he never admitted it to anyone. Not even Harry.

He walks downs the narrow staircase leading to the open kitchen and dining room of their ─ _his_ ─ duplex. Sunlight streams through the windows that lines most of the walls in the room, flooding the place with warm bright light. 

Granger had been the one who told them about this place. He doesn’t know what suddenly makes him think of her, but of a sudden, he misses her terribly. He’d lost them all after what he’d done. All of Harry’s friends who slowly became his.

His mother is standing in the middle of the kitchen tapping her nails on the black marble countertop. The sink, fridge and cooker are all stainless steel, top of the line appliances. Harry had wanted cool, Muggle and modern. Draco didn’t give a fuck where he lived, as long as it didn’t look at all like the Manor. He drops down next to his mother, looking at her expectantly.

She purses her lips ―her signature look of disapproval― and Draco rolls his eyes. 

If she wants to take a swing at him she’d better join the sodding queue. He’s had enough hits for one week. In fact, he doesn’t know if he can take another. 

‘What’s this about now?’ he asks.

Narcissa looks coolly about the room. ‘Where’s Astoria?’

‘At her boyfriend’s, probably.’

She makes a face, turning her nose upwards. While his mother likes Astoria on principle ―she’d even tried to make a match between them once― she had always said it was crude for a woman of her age to be living with a man who was neither her fiancé nor her husband. Draco had pointed out that if he didn’t have Astoria, he wouldn’t be able to afford the mortgage on the flat, but then that had brought up arguments about Lucius that they both preferred to avoid.

‘I haven’t seen you at the cottage at all this week, Draco,’ she says.

He stares at her for a moment, utterly flatfooted. He starts to make a pot of tea and Narcissa follows him with her eyes.

He glances over his shoulder. ‘That’s because I haven’t been there,’ he says.

‘While, it’s obvious that you’re trying to avoid Harry,’ Narcissa says. ‘You might want to consider that apart from the fact that it’s entirely beneath a Malfoy to avoid his problems, there is a six-year-old boy who is convinced his cousin no longer wants to see him because he’s contagious and disgusting.’

Draco drops his cup onto the island, his shoulders slumping.

‘He did _not_ say that,’ he says. ‘He can’t even pronounce ‘disgusting’.’ 

‘Are you calling your mother a liar, Draco?’

‘No,’ he says, turning around. ‘I’m saying that it’s not unlike you to use Teddy to manipulate us.’

The kettle whistles loudly and Draco pulls it off the hob. He stuffs a few tea bags into the teapot, fills it with the hot water and drops a cup in front of his mother.

‘That needs to steep a bit, Draco.’

‘I don’t like it strong.’

‘Since when?’

Draco pours himself a cup of weak tea. ‘Mummy, what are you really doing here?’

‘If you must know,’ she says, brushing imaginary lint from her robes. ‘Harry’s been running himself into the ground taking care of Teddy, and I hoped you’d talk to him.’

Draco snorts. ‘I’m the last person he’ll talk to.’

‘Now why is that?’ she asks, studying him for a moment. ‘I was telling the truth about Teddy, son. He wants to see you.’

Draco sips his tea and then sighs. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘I’ll come over after work.’

Narcissa pours herself a cup of tea and then looks at him expectantly.

‘Well, are you going to fetch me the sugar, or am I going to have to beg for it?’

Draco hides a smile as he reaches for the sugar tin.

: : : 

The cottage is still and quiet when he Floos over in the afternoon.

‘Harry?’ he calls, walking over to the small kitchen. ‘Is anyone here?’

There’s a muffled curse and some laughter, followed by the door to the loo opening out into the hallway.

At tall, middle aged handsome man, who Draco can only assume is Brian, steps into the kitchen absently wiping his palms on his trousers.

Draco stands very still.

‘Oh! Sorry! I didn’t hear you,’ Brian says, gesturing to the bathroom. ‘I will never get used to talking mirrors.’

‘You’re Harry’s─’ Draco says. ‘You’re Brian.’

Brian smiles. ‘And you’re Draco,’ he says, offering his hand. ‘Nice to finally meet you.’

Draco reaches out and shakes his hand.

‘Of course. You too.’

He can see why Harry likes him. He’s tall and lean, with a wide easy smile that makes Draco instantly think of him as one of the ‘good guys’. They stand awkwardly facing each other for a moment, then Brian steps around him to reach the kettle.

‘I was just making some tea for Harry.’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s been ridiculous all week,’ he says. ‘He thinks it's all his fault ‘cause we took him to that Manchester match. Bloody rubbish if you ask me.’

‘Yes,’ Draco says. ‘He’s like that. How’s Teddy?’

‘Oh, he’s fine. A bit droopy still, but he’ll mend well. They’re both asleep, thank God. Harry wouldn’t give himself a break.’

Draco steps backward until his arse hits the countertop.

Brian looks at him for a moment and then he pulls down a cup from the cupboard and hands it over. He pours some tea for Draco with a slight smile on his face.

‘You look like you could use a cuppa.’

Draco manages a small smile and takes a sip. ‘It’s good,’ he says.

'It's homemade,' Brian says. He studies Draco for a moment, leaning his back against the wooden cupboards and pressing his palms flat on the countertop.

‘This is a bit surreal isn’t it?’ he asks.

Draco shrugs, sipping his tea. ‘I suppose it had to happen at some point.’

‘I suppose. The timing though. It’s rather odd if you ask me.’

‘Is it?’

Brian folds his arms across his chest, giving Draco a measuring look.

‘I’ve just bought a townhouse,’ he says. ‘Nothing too fancy, but I like it.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘I’m going to ask Harry to move in with me.’

Draco lowers his teacup slowly.

‘Oh,’ he says. He sets his teacup on the counter top, running his index finger around the rim.

Brian shifts his stance, crossing his long legs at the ankles.

‘He told me about what happened between you two the other day.’

‘Did he?’

‘Yes,’ he says, smiling slowly. ‘He can’t keep a secret to save his life, can he?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Draco says softly.

Brian's smiles fades.

‘Well you should know I don’t hold it against you,’ he says in a rush of words. ‘Not really. It’s understandable. It sometimes happens with exes and Harry─’ he gives Draco a look, ‘well, he’s just in a league of his own, isn’t he?’

Draco matches his stare evenly.

‘He is,’ he says.

‘He told me you work for Muggles,’ Brian says, dusting imaginary crumbs from the countertop. ‘Finance is it?’

Draco nods tersely.

‘Do they know about you?’ he asks offhandedly. ‘I can’t imagine they’d appreciate a wizard meddling in the stock market.’

Brian folds his arms across his chest and gives Draco a piercing look. ‘I wonder,’ he says. ‘Have you ever used your... talents to an unfair advantage?’ he says.

Draco's mouth suddenly feels very much like sandpaper.

‘Your Ministry wouldn't appreciate it either,’ he continues. ‘What with the new legislation on the ethical application of magic.’

Draco swallows thickly. ‘I don’t use magic at work,’ he says.

‘Not to worry. I’ll not say a word about it.' He gives Draco a hard measuring look. 'I'm sure you wouldn't want to end up in Azkaban. With your history, I daresay you wouldn’t survive it.’

Draco straightens up. ‘You’ve made your point.’

‘Have I?’ Brian asks. ‘It’s not about you, understand. It’s nothing personal. I just want to protect what’s mine.’

Draco looks away. _It would not be worth it to hex the man. It's not worth it. Don’t do it, Draco._ The words repeat themselves like a mantra in his head.

‘This tea’s getting cold. Perhaps you’d like to take a cup in for Harry? Say goodbye?’

Brian picks up a cup of tea and gazes pointedly at the man across him.

Draco stares at the countertop for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. _It's not worth it, Draco.’_

‘If you don’t mind,’ he says brusquely.

Brian tilts his head and passes the cup over to him. Just as Draco turns to walk out into the hallway Brian stops him with a strong grip his arm.

‘You know,’ he says, smiling strangely. ‘I never knew he had a thing for blonds until I met you.’

Draco can’t think of anything to say in response.

: : : 

When Harry wakes, Teddy is still asleep. His bright purple hair is pushed up beneath Harry’s nose and he gingerly pushes the boy aside, trying his best not to wake him. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. His knees crack when he stretches and he winces briefly. He’d shattered his knee cap during a bad fall from his broom and even after Skele-Gro it still has its off days.

There’s a soft knock on the bedroom door. 

It’s probably Brian. Harry isn’t sure if he’s ready to face him again after the last few conversations they’ve had. Their ‘talk’ involved Brian sharing his ideas about where they should be in terms of ‘commitment’ and ‘long-term’ ...all of which made Harry’s stomach clench, prompting him to blurt out in an undignified tone, _‘I snogged my ex!’_ ...which prompted even more conversations about said ex, and where Harry’s feelings stand. Was Harry was thinking of leaving him? Did Harry think they had a future together? Was Harry still in love with his ex? Because that was okay, as long as he loved Brian more...then they could be together and move on from past relationships and on with their lives together. All the constant talk just made him feel sick, so Harry, wanting peace, agreed to most of what his lover said, locked himself into taking care of Teddy and avoided Brian’s body as much as he could over the past few days. 

He looks at the door for a minute and sighs.

‘Yeah, come in,’ he says, pushing his hair out of his face.

Not Brian, but fucking Draco walks in, carrying a cup of tea...and while Harry is dignified not to let his mouth hang open, he does splutter just a little bit. 

Draco is beautiful, as usual; his long woollen grey jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath.

‘Hey,’ he says.

Harry stands in a hurry, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that his hair looks like it exploded and he’s clad only in Brian’s old shirt and briefs. He tugs the shirt down and it hangs halfway down his thighs. Thank _Merlin_ Brian is so freaking tall.

Draco takes this all in with a quick sweeping look and hands the cup of tea to Harry.

‘Brian sent this up for you,’ he says.

Harry thinks, perhaps, this might be a little too much for his body to handle. ‘Brian,’ he says tonelessly. 

‘Yes. Your boyfriend.’

Harry takes the cup hesitantly. ‘You’ve met him then,’ he says.

Draco smiles a strange small smile. ‘You could say that, yes,’ he says slowly.

‘I told him what happened,' Harry blurts. 'I hope you didn’t have a row.’

Draco’s mouth twitches. ‘Not exactly.’

Harry fingers tap against his teacup nervously. ‘What does that mean?'

Draco studies him for a moment. ‘You told me you love him,’ he says. ‘Did you mean it?’

Oh, God. _That_ question again. And sod all if Harry really knows how he feels about Brian right now. ‘I- I think I do,’ he says softly. 

Draco nods, looking away. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

‘He’s good for you,' Draco says, studying his hands. ‘He loves you, too, you know.’

‘Does he?’

Draco lets out a moist trill of laughter. ‘Typical Harry,’ he says. ‘You never know do you? When someone loves you as much as he does.’

‘I thought I knew with you,’ Harry says, quietly. ‘I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?’

A small sound of frustration escapes from Draco’s lips. ‘You weren’t wrong, Harry.’

‘You loved me, then? I’m supposed to believe that?’ 

‘Of course I loved you.’ 

Harry, still recovering from Draco’s use of past tense, swallows thickly and sets his down teacup on the dresser opposite the bed. Draco watches his movements with an air of studied calm. 

When he steps closer to Draco, Draco takes a few steps back and a small sharp burst of pain blooms in Harry’s chest. 

Draco studies his face, his eyes roving about as though committing it to memory.

'I have to go, Harry,’ he says in almost a whisper. 

Harry feels a sudden emptiness descending upon his chest. This feels too much like the goodbye they never quite had. The one so long ago when Harry came home and Draco just was not there. He can feel the same panic rising in his chest. The panic that consumed him for days before he realised Draco hadn’t been taken. He’d left. 

‘All right,' Harry says.

With one last look at Harry and a fleeting glance at Teddy, sleeping obliviously on the bed, Draco leaves him one last time.

Harry stands still in the empty room, rubbing his chest in slow circles, staring blankly at nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

 

** PART IV **

_When the truth is_

_I miss you._

 

 

 

 

Harry swallows thickly and leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His heart pounds in his ears and pores raise at the back of his neck.

'You did what?’

Brian sighs and places his fork carefully in his plate. 'I bought a house.'

'For _what_?'

'For us,' Brian says, raising his eyebrows. 'You think I want to live in a rental for the rest of my life? I'm almost forty years old, Harry.’

‘For the rest of your li― What the fuck are you talking about, Brian?’

‘I’m talking about moving in together.’ Brian says.

Harry looks down at the plate of food in front of him. It’s his favourite thing that Brian makes. Lamb stew with russet potatoes and thickly cut onions. They’d decided to eat in tonight because Brian said he’ had some exciting news. Harry, thinking nothing of it, was prepared for news of a promotion at work, or maybe even a lottery win. Certainly not this. Anything but this.  
‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘We’ve never even _talked_ about moving into together... and now you’ve bought a house?’

Brian studies him for a moment. ‘It was meant to be a surprise,’ he says. ‘I thought you would be happy.’

‘Happy?’

‘Clearly, you’re not.’

‘No,’ Harry says. ‘I’m not. I’m not ready to live move in together!’

Brian looks down at his plate and says softly, ‘You lived with _him,_ didn’t you?’

Harry scowls and leans forward in his chair. ‘Draco has nothing to do with this.'

'I think he has everything to do with this.'

'I can't just move anywhere I want to, Brian. Do you know how many protective enchantments I've had to use on this flat alone? Not to mention when I travel. It's not so easy for me to just pick up and move. I doubt your place is adequately warded, or even magical at that. Is there a Floo? We'd have to hire someone to completely redo the house. It’s better if we keep things the way they are. It’ll be easier on us both.’

Harry reaches out to rest his hand on top of Brian’s but Brian pulls his hand away.

'Is this about Draco, Harry?'

‘I just said it wasn't.'

‘I think you're lying.’

‘I’m not.’

'Harry, just say it,’ Brian says exasperatedly. ‘You don't want to move in with me because you're still in love with your ex. Just, at least have the balls to tell me the truth.'

Harry looks away. _Just tell the truth._

He’s not sure he knows what that is anymore. He knows he still loves Draco. That will probably never change. But Draco’s made it clear what he wants. And it isn’t Harry. Not anymore. But, Brian wants the truth. Harry slowly looks up.

'It's not like I'm saying I want to break up,' He begins softly. 'I don't. I l-love you, Brian. But you’re right. I do love him...I―I’m still in love with him.’

‘You love me?’ Brian asks softly. He looks at Harry and scoffs. 'You couldn't even say it.'

Harry says nothing for a moment and then he takes another drink from his wineglass to push down the lump forming in the back of his throat.

'You are such prick sometimes,' he says.

Brian looks down at the table, picking at the tines of his unused fork.

'Yeah, well. You’re right. I am a prick sometimes,’ he says. ‘And I threatened him yesterday. How do you like that?'

'You what?'

'I threatened him. I told him I'd let slip that he’s been using magic to fix the stock market for his top investors.'

Harry leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, rubbing his palm across his stubble. 'I don't even know what that means,' he says.

Brian leans forward, too, looking Harry square in the eyes. 'It means that if I reported him, he’d go straight to Azkaban.'

'How-? How did you even find this out?'

'I guessed! Judging by his reputation, it's not that much of a stretch, Harry.'

'So you threatened him,' Harry says, gripping the edges of the table. 'Do you even know how hard it was for him to even get that job?'

'I don't _care._ And neither should you.'

Harry gives him a shrewd look, and then gulps down the rest of his wine in one go. 'Because he's my ex,' he spits out. ‘I should watch him go to Azkaban, to placate _your_ jealousy, because I broke up with him.’

'Not _just_ because he’s your ex, Harry,’ Brian yells, slamming his palm onto the table. The plates rattle ominously, and Harry’s mouth turns dry. ‘ _Because you shouldn’t love him anymore!_ Fuck. Harry when I met you, you were a drunk. You were completely fucked up. You couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t _touch_ you. You were a complete mess. And it was because of him! Because of what he did to you!’

Brian takes a few breaths, his eyes wide and bright with tears of frustration. ‘Didn't I make you better?’ he asks. ‘Aren't we good together?'

'We are!’ Harry shouts. ‘But that doesn't mean you can go around threatening him!'

'Why,' Brian says, looking at Harry with an expression of complete and utter bewilderment. ' _Why_ don't you hate him for what he did to you?'

Harry swallows thickly. He’s asked himself the same question so many times in the last few years. 'I don’t know,’ he says, pushing back his chair and standing abruptly. ‘I have to go.'

Brian looks stricken. 'Where are you going?’

‘To Ron’s.’ Harry summons his leather jacket and starts jerkily forcing his arms into the sleeves.

'Are you sure about that?’ Brian asks quietly. ‘Are you sure that’s where you’re going?’

Harry stops his movements and turns to face Brian. ‘Fuck you,’ he says. And then he straightens his collar and walks out of the apartment, trying to ignore the painful swelling in his throat, and the slice of guilt that’s wedged itself into his heart.

 

\--

He doesn't make it over to Ron’s; instead he goes to the Welbourne Needle, a pub he’d often frequented in the days just after Draco had left him. The bartender, an American called Jason, recognises him instantly and pours him a shot of Firewhisky as he sits by the bar.

'Haven't seen you in a long time, man,' he says.

He's younger than Harry, with a plain face and a space in his teeth, but he'd been good company the nights Harry spent hours sitting at the bar, drinking himself into oblivion.

'Haven't been around.'

Harry knocks back a shot, taking a moment to appreciate the sweet burn in his chest.

'Got any fags, Jason?' he asks.

The bartender tosses him a pack, and Harry shakes one out, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

Jason's eyes widen appreciatively. 'You are such a show off,' he says.

Harry shrugs and takes a deep drag. His first taste of the nicotine is almost better than any sex he's ever had in his entire, pathetic life. He knocks back another shot of whiskey and gestures to Jason to pour him another.

'I don't know, Harry.' he says. 'This is premium shit. Two might be your lucky number if you wanna to walk out of here straight.'

'Well, I'd have to be straight in the first place, right? Get it?'

Jason raises his eyebrow and his mouth twitches. 'Yeah, definitely not, Harry. I think you're good.'.

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a few more blessedly sweet drags of his fag before dropping it on the floor and grinding it into the stone slabs with his boot. He grabs his jacket and then stands abruptly and his feet take a while to catch up with his brain, so he stumbles.

Jason looks over to him as he begins to leave. 'Hey, Harry where you off to?'

Harry shrugs. 'Fuck if I know.'

He pushes himself out the door, and then leans against the brick wall outside the pub. There's a piece of parchment in his jacket pocket. One he picked up today after having stuffed it at the bottom of his old trunk some months previous. He can't think of a reason why he picked it up tonight. Unless he starts being honest with himself, and admits he knows exactly why he did it --just as he knows exactly where he's headed. He knew it the moment he left his flat.

There's a quick flash of bright light, then a few more. Harry's blinded by bright lights as he struggles to get his bearings.

'Over here, Harry!'

A couple Prophet scums hound him for his picture and he pushes them roughly aside. His glasses fall to the floor. Without thought, he Apparates.

In an instant, he's in his old flat, standing in the kitchen.

He finds Draco sitting in living room. His legs are propped up on an ottoman and he's reading some sort of ridiculously huge book.

He's completely engrossed, stopping every few moments to lick his index and turn the page, and then, although he'll hotly deny it later, he twirls a few strands of hair in his fingers absently as his eyes skim the pages.

Harry smiles.

'Draco,' he says.

 

: : :

Draco looks up at the sudden spectre of his ex standing just a few metres away.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, dropping his book into his lap and sitting up straight. ‘Wait. Are you pissed?’

Harry strides across the room and drops a piece of parchment into his lap.

‘Read it,' he says. 'I got it a few days before you left.'

Draco unfolds the parchment. It takes only a moment for him to read it. When he’s finished, he feels like the world’s been tugged from beneath his feet.

It all makes sense now, why Harry had never forgiven him.

Pansy had said that he was always looking for a way out, and Draco handed it to him on a platter. Blaise had told him he was a tosser and he deserved what he got. Astoria was the only one who suggested that maybe Harry was hiding something. That there was more to his utter refusal to ever see Draco again. And here it was.

The note was crumpled over, like it had been read many, many times. The penmanship was untidy, almost illegible, but the message was clear.

_Harry,_

_The surest way to break the Imperious curse is to kill the one who has cast it. I know Malfoy has cursed you. I will be your liberator._

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Draco murmurs.

Harry sits across from him. ‘Yeah.’

Draco rubs his hand harshly across his face. ‘Did you ever find who sent this?’

‘Yes.’

‘You never told me.’

‘No,’ Harry says. ‘After you came back, I asked Ron to spare someone on his team to keep an eye on you. And then I asked him never to tell you what happened while you were gone.’

Draco folds the parchment tightly in his fist.

‘What happened while I was gone, Harry?'

Harry sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind his ears.

‘It got pretty bad. Somehow we kept it out of the Prophet, though the Quibbler started to speculate.’

He looks away. ‘I was part of the search. Some people actually thought I was joining the Auror department after all. We had a lead; a friend of Hermione’s ran some prints for us.'

Harry runs his fingers through his hair. 'He erased his magical signature from the letter. It turned out to be a Muggle-born. He’d lost his parents in a Death Eater raid.'

He hesitates. ‘Draco, he was brewing the Draught of Living Death when we found him. He was going to kill you.’

Harry swallows thickly, scratching absently at a spot on his wrist.

‘When you were-- when you left, I thought whoever sent that letter must have had you. I was─’ he lets out a rush of air between his lips. ‘I was so scared you were dead.'

'Ron wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute. He was worried I was going to do something stupid,' he looks up with an anguished expression. 'I thought about it. If we found your body…I was going to do it.’

Draco makes a small noise, but Harry ignores him.

‘When we were bringing him in, there were reporters outside the Ministry. One of them told me you were shacking up with Greengrass. He asked me how I felt about you now that you’d chucked me out for a woman.’

He laughs grimly.

‘Ron decked him for that.’

‘Harry─’

‘I know why you left,’ Harry says. ‘Everything you said, it was true, Draco.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘The last thing you said to me. Don’t you remember?’

‘I remember,’ Draco says, ‘saying a lot of stupid things I didn’t mean.’

Harry leans back in his chair.

‘You said that being with me was like being with a shadow. You said my head was stuffed high up my own arse I couldn’t see anyone but myself,’ Harry takes a deep breath. ‘You said I didn’t see the world for what it was. That I was a naive idealist. That I couldn’t see reality. That I couldn’t see you.’

‘Harry…’

‘No. It’s true,’ Harry says. ‘It was all true, Draco. I am such a fuck up.’

Draco leans forward. ‘You’re not. I can’t believe you’ve been thinking this all this time.’

Harry swipes at the hot tears running down his cheeks. ‘I know I drove you away.’

Draco doesn’t say anything for a minute. He’s never seen Harry cry. Not even when they talked about the war. Not even when he saw Hermione fall apart over the miscarriage. Not even when they talked about his parents. It hurts to watch him like this.

‘Harry. You’re pissed, all right? Let me get you home.’

Harry looks away, pressing his lips together.

‘C’mon,’ Draco says. ‘I’ll Apparate you home.’

They both stand and Harry sways unsteadily on his feet. Draco grabs his elbow, steadying him.

‘You can’t get through my wards, remember?’ Harry says.

Draco looks at him for a moment. Harry’s green eyes are bright, his thick lashes wet with tears. He can feel Harry’s breath on his face. It smells of whiskey and cigarettes.

‘Where are your glasses?’

Harry shrugs then curl his fingers around Draco’s biceps, pulling him close and pressing their foreheads together.

‘I thought you stopped smoking,’ Draco says softly.

‘I did.’

Draco slowly strokes his fingers along Harry’s spine.

‘Why her?’ Harry says, into the silence. ‘Why Greengrass? Why our fucking place? You knew what I would think. You could have stayed with Greg or Blaise or anybody else.’

‘I was trying to hurt you,’ Draco says. ‘I was trying to get your fucking attention.’

‘Yeah, well, you did.’

Draco pulls himself away.

‘And I’m fucking tired of apologising!’ he snaps.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then he shoves Harry hard in the chest. Harry tumbles backward.

‘I told you it wouldn’t work,’ he shouts, not caring who else can hear them. ‘I told you it was too soon. I was still on probation.’

He shoves Harry again.

‘Do you know how much you cocked things up for me? For my family? You just had to be a fucking Gryffindor twat and announce it to the whole sodding world that we were fuck buddies. Why did you care what they wanted? Wasn’t I enough for you?’

Harry stares at him for a moment.

‘Of course you were,’ he says softly.

‘Then why didn’t you fight for me? Why did you become such a coward?’

Harry looks away. ‘Because I thought you didn’t want me.’

Draco closes the space between them, grabbing Harry’s shirt and pulling the other man close.

‘Of course I want you, you stupid shit,’ he says. ‘I’ll always want you.’

And then his lips are on Harry’s, hot and smooth. He shoves his fingers into Harry’s thick hair and presses their bodies together. Harry opens his mouth and Draco slides his tongue inside. Harry tastes like whiskey and cigarettes; the combination sends a wave of pure want straight to his prick. Harry takes a few steps back ward and Draco presses him into the wall pushing their hips together. Harry groans, rubbing his hands along Draco’s thighs, up under his shirt.

Draco pulls away, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

‘tell me you wont regret this in the morning?’ he asks breathlessly.

‘No,’ Harry says. ‘I won’t.’

He presses kisses along the curve of Draco’s jaw.

Draco smiles into his shirt, breathing in the scent of Harry. He loves the prat. He knows that much for certain. He’d said it once, maybe twice. Harry was the one who said it every day.

He mused to think it was just easier for Harry to say it. Now, Draco knows better. Saying those words were just as hard for Harry, maybe even harder than they were for Draco. But the stupid sod is a Gryffindor to the last.

And Draco loves him completely.

Harry licks a hot stripe along Draco’s pulse point to his earlobe and he groans as he works the soft flesh between his teeth.

He grabs Harry’s narrow hips, pushing him upwards. Harry wraps his legs around Draco’s waist, draping his arms across his shoulders. Draco unzips his fly and then Harry’s, pulling out their cocks before he lines them up, side by side. Harry groans leaning his head back as Draco wraps his fingers around both their shafts. They’ve both been leaking enough pre-come to make their cocks slippery, and Draco strokes them hard and fast, urgent for release.

‘Oh fuck, Draco.’

Draco comes first with a harsh cry and they collapse in together in a heap on the floor. Draco rests his head on Harry’s chest and Harry runs his fingers through his hair. Draco sighs.

‘At some point,’ Draco says. ‘I need to be inside you again.’

Harry stays silent, and pulls Draco upward for a kiss.

Draco studies his face for a moment, and carefully pulls himself away.

When he stands he offers his hand to Harry and pulls the other man up, he doesn’t wait for Harry to fully orient himself before pulling him into a fierce embrace.

‘I love you,’ Draco says as they hold on to each other. 'You have to tell me what to do.’

Draco pulls away, studying Harry’s face intently. ‘What do you want, Harry?’

Harry’s eyes flicker briefly to the fireplace and then back to Draco. They look at each other for a full minute before Harry says, ‘I want to stay with you,’ very softly.

Draco doesn’t wait another second before taking him up the stairs.

 

: : :

In the morning Harry wakes first. He slips quietly out of the bed, summons his clothes and walks slowly down the stairs. He doesn’t want to have to explain anything to Draco.

He can’t say did it because he was drunk, because that would be a lie.

He also cannot say he doesn’t regret it, because that would be a lie as well.

He can’t say he does not want it to happen again, because that would be the greatest lie of all.

He does want it to happen again. Every day, in fact. He wants to wake up beside Draco every fucking day. The force with which this thoguth comes to him almost brings him to his knees.

He also does not want to hurt Brian, whom, despite his actions, he does love. Very much.

And so this is how he finds himself, one morning, sneaking down the stairs of his old flat to the Floo, still feeling the heat of Draco’s cock inside him. Headed back to his own flat where undoubtedly his boyfriend, a man he loved would be waiting for him.

When did he become this person?

He stops by Andromeda’s on the way back, if only to prolong the inevitable. He greets Teddy, who is back to his old, raucous self, and Andromeda, who looks at the red marks on his neck with an all too knowing smile, and Narcissa who cannot contain her glee. When he pulls the woman aside, she only smiles when he assures her that This Is Not What It Looks Like. She pulls him close and warns him against breaking her son’s heart. Again.

When he finally Floos into his own flat, he can hear Brian yelling something downstairs, and so he is only mildly startled when his sister Rachel walks out of his kitchen.

She looks at him for a moment before saying loudly, ‘Yeah it’s him.’

Harry greets her awkwardly, eyeing the wand she’s been twirling delicately between her fingers.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t kill you.’

‘Um, thanks.’

She turns around and walks back into his kitchen, returning to whatever she was doing; probably hexing his food. He makes a mental note to chuck anything edible from his cupboards.

He takes the stairs two at a time, and finds Brian waiting for him sitting at the edge of his bed. When Brian sees him he nods quickly and stands, picking up the small duffel bag at his feet. Harry’s heart drops.

‘You fucked him.’

It isn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you would.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Brian holds up his free hand -a gesture to shut him up- and then tosses his duffel bag onto the bed. He crosses the room in two quick strides and kisses Harry hard on the mouth. When he pulls away, he grabs Harry’s face in his hands.

‘You are such a shit,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘What happens now?’

Harry kisses him; barely brushing his lips against Brian and closes his eyes. When they pull apart, Brian drops his hands.

‘I do love you, you know,’ Harry says.

Brian reaches for his bag on the bed and hoists the straps across his shoulders.

‘You just love him more.’

Harry looks away. When Brian brushes past him, Harry reaches out and touches his arm once briefly. After Brian leaves the room, he hears the thumping of his boots on the staircase, the deep baritone of his voice murmuring something to his sister, then finally the sharp pop of their Disapparition.

 

: : :

He takes a shower and cries in the stall.

He takes a walk and cries in an alleyway behind a dumpster.

He orders takeout and cries when the deliveryman offers him change.

When he sleeps, he dreams about Brian’s new house. Although he has never seen it, he is sure it is perfect. And warm, and homey.

 

: : :

When he wakes, he thinks about Draco. About how unstable they are together; all their arguments and all the ways Draco could make him scream.

: : :

A week passes and he is still thinking. He blocks off his Floo and refuses any owls. When another week passes he drops the wards.

Nothing happens. He waits an hour before he Apparates into his old apartment, because Brian was right.

He loves Draco more. More than he loves anyone, really.

He finds himself trapped in the wards before being tossed into the street in front of the apartment. He dusts himself off, walks to the front door and then he rings the bell. After a good ten minutes of banging on the door frame he finds himself face to face with Greengrass. She’s dressed only in a loose dressing gown. When she sees who it is, she rolls her eyes and steps aside.

‘About time you got here,’ she says.

He follows her into the open living room, where he stands awkwardly looking around.

‘He’s in the kitchen,’ she says, and then she studies his face.

‘I suppose I’d better find somewhere else to live,’ she begins. ‘And I hope this goes without saying, but if you hurt him again, Potter, I’ll- I’ll hex you. Really badly in fact.’

She pulls her dressing gown tightly against herself and then walks away.

Harry finds Draco sitting at the kitchen table, spreading a water droplet onto the marble countertop with his fingertips. His eyes are curiously red rimed and his hair is frayed and dull.

Harry clears his throat loudly. Draco doesn’t look up.

‘Come back for your things?’ he asks.

‘What things?’

Draco sighs. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘But it sounded pretty damned perfect in my head.’

He finally looks up. He looks very tired, as though he either spent the last week running a marathon or duelling a troll.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ he asks wearily.

‘I came back for you,’ Harry says.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Draco’s face. He stares unblinkingly at Harry and almost jumps when Astoria suddenly yells ‘I told you!’

‘Shut it!’ Draco says loudly in the direction of her bedroom.

He slides off his chair and walks around the slab of marble in the middle of the kitchen stopping a few paces in front of Harry.

‘You left,’ he says.

‘I had to tell Brian,’ Harry says. ‘I couldn’t wake up next to you knowing he was at home waiting for me.’

‘And the week afterward? Was that some sort of punishment?’

‘I needed some time,’ Harry says.

Draco steps closer. He folds his arms across his chest.

‘And you couldn’t send an owl or Flooed over or even fucking send a message with Granger could you?’

Harry shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, Draco. I wasn’t ready all right? Could you just give me a break here?’

Draco opens his mouth and then closes it. He rubs his palms harshly across his face before saying, ‘Are you certain this time, Harry? Cause I─’

Harry places his hand briefly over Draco’s mouth.

‘I’m sure,’ he says.

‘You better be,’ Draco says quietly. ‘Fucking arsehole.’

Harry kisses him slowly, opening his mouth and pressing his length into Draco’s.

When they pull apart Harry smiles and traces his finger along Draco’s jaw.

‘I’m yours now, Draco’ he says thickly.

Draco kisses him softly.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Mine.’

 

 

 

finis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally posted the final chapter. :P
> 
> If you've stuck with me, thank you.  
> I hope you enjoyed this fic.


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